


Count the Saints

by SterlingAg



Series: I'm (Not) Giving Up On You [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 16:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4026169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SterlingAg/pseuds/SterlingAg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is drunk and it's cold. Why are werewolves so stupid?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Count the Saints

Stiles stared up at the clear night sky. It was a new moon—the stars the only twinkling lights in the sky. They mirrored the flickering yellow and orange orbs that slowly went out one by one in Beacon Hills. He was up on the edge of town, his Jeep easily crossing the rougher terrain of the less cared for roads. Now he found himself lying down on the too chilly ground in a too thin hoodie with a too empty bottle of Jacks. He didn’t even particularly like the taste of the whiskey but it reminded him of his father and gave him some fragile semblance of adulthood.

The meet-up with Derek in the library had really shaken him. In the inky darkness, when Stiles dangled the leather cord from his fingers the talisman didn’t reflect. There was no swooping line of light over the smooth curved edge of the piece. He let his fingers play across the surface of it, having already memorized the contours of it long ago. With a heavy sigh he let his hand fall to the ground to make a dull thud. As if balancing the motion, he brought the bottle to his lips and let the honey brown liquid slide down his throat. It didn’t so much burn anymore—only leaving a trail of foggy warmth behind.

What was he even doing at this point? A small bark of laughter escaped him. Here he was on a Tuesday night in the middle of the woods drinking. He should be in bed. He should be terrified of wild animals. He should be—What? What should he be doing? 

“Damn,” he mumbled, voice rough from the night air and passage of alcohol. In an attempt to drown the world out, Stiles closed his eyes and slung his arm over them. He focused on the whistle of air as his lungs expanded with his breaths. What he needed to do was go over all of the information he had. If he did that, then he would be able to make an educated decision. That’s how he always handled things. 

So then what did he know for sure?   
-Derek had met Parrish at the bar (How long had they been meeting? What was the purpose of their meetings?)  
-Derek hadn’t told Stiles anything (What was he keeping secret? Had Derek been cheating?)  
-Scott and Kira were probably going to get married (No that didn’t have much to do with the situation at hand. But it was still important information.)  
-Stiles was going to finish his Bachelor’s Degree in the next couple of years  
-He would be moving away for Graduate School (Pros and Cons of a Long Distance Relationship?)  
-He really really really missed Derek (At least one of those “really”s was probably due to the alcohol, probably.)

It wasn’t even so much that he missed Derek. Stiles missed the sense of security he had around Derek. Talking to Derek was just so easy. Even if Derek didn’t speak volumes or spout soliloquies, he never complained about Stiles’ perhaps excessive talk. He didn’t tell Stiles it was stupid when he went to every Avengers premier dressed as Captain America. He didn’t even complain when Stiles convinced him to dress as a rugged-chic Tony Stark. Derek never whined about being the Little Spoon, but he also understood when Stiles just needed to be held. Derek always gave Stiles space when he needed it—no brooding werewolf over his shoulder at all times. It was such an effortless and wonderful relationship. The matter-of-fact just making it all so much more confusing as to why Derek hadn’t communicated with Stiles when he was begging for it.

Stiles sat up, groaning from cramps in his back the movement caused. He cradled the liquor and necklace in his lap and stared out over the town. He didn’t know when it happened but soon he felt hot tears sliding down his cheeks. Covering his mouth did nothing to stop the sobs that shook his body.

He missed Derek.

He needed Derek.

_He loved Derek._

Drawing gasping, quivering breaths, Stiles let shuddering curses fall from his lips. His cries were heard only by the invisible moon and the endless night sky.

—

The phone rang for what seemed like ages. Stiles sniffled and rubbed his arm in an attempt to regain some heat. When had it gotten so cold out? He waited less than patiently for the caller to pick up the phone. Finally it clicked and Stiles let out a relieved breath.

“I’m cold and sad and drunk,” he listed off, his words slurring and was he shouting? He couldn’t be sure, “Please come take my sorry sack of an ass home.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

“Scotty? Oh god—were you with Kira? Man dude bro, I’m so—“

“Where are you?” Came the gruff response. 

Stiles frowned, pulling his phone away to look at it. The letters on the screen swirled and dipped, nearly making Stiles fall over himself. That didn’t quite sound like Scott. Damn, he was way more drunk than he had previously thought.

“Northern cliffs—usual spot,” he answered.

“Ten minutes. Don’t move,” then the call ended. Stiles blinked down at his phone for a second then shook his head. He swirled the remaining whiskey in the bottle. It wasn’t that much. He tipped his head back and took the last of the drink into his system. There was more than he thought and he ended up coughing as it went down the wrong way. 

—

The headlights that bathed Stiles in a blue-white glow nearly blinded him. He let out a very displeased noise. 

“Scotty, come on!” He whined, pushing himself up. “Fuck,” he whispered when the world tilted and he couldn’t feel his knees. Danny always said you don’t know how drunk you are until you stand up. Well, by those standards, Stiles was very drunk and he was definitely going to regret this in the morning. As he made his way over to the vehicle—lights now off thank _god_ —he found the ground even more treacherous to walk over. More than once he stumbled and nearly fell over. He pitched forward and braced himself for impact. But instead of feeling the harsh crunch of ground to nose, he was enveloped by arms and the scent of leather hit his nose. Stiles grumbled out a thanks as his mind was instantly filled with images of a leather-clad werewolf. 

“Why are you wearing that,” he chuckled to himself, “Are you trying to replace Derek by dressing like him? Well news for you Scotty my boy that is impossible.” He said, enunciating each syllable of “impossible” in a sloppy, not at all separate manner. 

Stiles was pretty sure he heard a mumbled “oh my god” but he brushed it off. He was helped to the passenger side of the car and the door was opened. It was difficult to get all of his limbs into the small space of the car. Since when was Scott’s mom’s car so small? It was like an entirely different car altogether. Nevertheless, Stiles sank back into the seats and purred as a seat warmer was turned on. The heat slowly seeped to the depths of his bones and he could feel his toes again. Well, sort of. Everything below his waist felt a bit like jelly—go figure.

“Thanks for picking my sorry ass up, Scotty,” Stiles said after he could be certain his lips wouldn’t tremble from the cold.

There was another pause, the radio almost audible if it was listened for, “…You didn’t call Scott, Stiles.”

All the heat he had accumulated drained from his body, probably every ounce of blood too. Stiles turned to look at the driver. In the dim glow of the dash’s lights he could make out a square jaw, stubble, and a coif of hair that he would recognize from anywhere.

“Derek—ow—shit!” Stiles moved too quickly in his surprise and hit his hand against the dash. Hard. He curled over the now throbbing appendage, groaning in the back of his throat.

“Fuck, oh my god, why are you _here?_ ”

“You called me.”

“And you answered? It’s like—three in the morning.”

“Yeah, noticed that,” Derek answered shortly. 

“But you still came to get me?” Stiles slid his eyes back to look at Derek. His head turned slightly as he glanced at Stiles then quickly looked back to the road.

“Yeah.”

Stiles stared at Derek for another moment before turning to look out the window. He rested his forehead on the glass, not caring for a second if it would leave a smear. The coolness was just what he needed to clear some of the fog in his head. He was still pretty dizzy and he had a feeling he was going to be nauseas for a good portion of tomorrow. 

“There’s water at your feet,” Derek said after a few minutes had passed. Stiles nodded and reached down. His hand flailed a bit in the darkness before brushing against a water bottle. He uncapped it and drank graciously. The liquid quelled a bit of the nausea.

“Stiles,” Derek began, “About Parrish—“

“Derek I really don’t want to hear about him right now.”

Derek frowned slightly but pushed on anyway, “He was helping me out with something.” Derek reached down and pulled something from between his seat and the center console. He handed it to Stiles who took it hesitantly.

“Der I can’t read this,” Stiles grumbled. But in the sparse light thrown into the vehicle from street lamps, he could just barely make out the return address.

“Does this say Police Academy?”

“Yeah.” Derek answered.

Stiles shook his head and let out a frustrated breath, “Why—what does it have to do with anything?”

“It’s an invitation to take part in the physical examination.”

“You have to pass the written test before you can make the—“

“I did.”

Stiles’ brain tried to push through the muddled fog. The cogs were turning, but not very quickly or very well. He took another long drink from the water as if the liquid could give him all the answers and help him follow the conversation happening. 

“I want to become an officer, Stiles.” Derek stated softly, as if he was saying it out loud for the first time. 

“Fuck why didn’t you say so? I could ask my Dad—“ Stiles stopped short as things suddenly slid into place. 

The leather creaked softly as Derek’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, “I didn’t want that,” he said equally softly.

Stiles closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the headrest, “That’s why you were meeting Parrish. But it’s still a stupid reason not to tell me. Fuck,” he ran a hand through his hair.

“I know.”

Stiles chewed on his thumbnail a little bit as he thought things over.

“I think we both need to do a few things. Yeah things are good and dandy now—well really not so much. I’m still super insanely pissed at you asshole. But maybe we should take a break. Get our shit together.”

“That—“ Derek choked his sentence off. But then he nodded, “That would probably be good.”

“We can always try again in a few years or something.”

“Yeah.”

Stiles smiled to himself for a second. A small sigh escaped him. It was like a weight that had settled over him was lifted. Derek hadn’t cheated on him. That was a plus. But his communication skills were absolute shit. That and the trust between them would really need to be worked on. Not right now though. Right now Stiles just needed to focus on—

“Shit, Der, pull over.”

“What?”

“I’m totally gonna vom—“ Stiles put his hand over his mouth.

“Stiles I swear to god if you throw up in my car—“

A gagging sound came from inside Stiles and Derek shouted loudly. If he didn’t think he would blow chunks, Stiles would have laughed until he cried. 

—

New York had been nice, but nothing could beat good ol’ Cali. Stiles took a seat at the bar, ushering over the bartender. It wasn’t Boyd—some new young face. Perhaps Boyd had finally settled down with the waitress he’d been trying to woo some time ago. God, had it really been two years already? Stiles had easily knocked out his Masters and even worked abroad in the timespan. The crowd at The Void was as rowdy as ever. Stiles chuckled as he sipped at his drink that had arrived. Maybe he would have to go to a scotch bar where they played smooth jazz and smoked cheap cigars. He chuckled to himself—he was old but he wasn’t his father.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Asked the guy who had just slid into the seat next to him. Stiles tried to keep the smile from sliding onto his face. It ended up being a flirtatious smirk instead as he turned to the speaker of the voice.

“Deputy Hale,” he purred, “Should you be drinking during duty?”

Derek’s eyes sparkled as he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly, “I’m off the clock. So about that drink?”

“Yeah, I’d like that—I’d like that a lot.”

**Author's Note:**

> You are all awesome. Thanks for sticking with me through this! I know I haven't been updating frequently at all. That's not fair to you all. I appreciate your patience and your messages. They mean the world to me and I keep every single one of them. No lie! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the final part to this series. I really enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoy it just as much as I did.
> 
> Cordially yours,  
> SterlingAg


End file.
